Actions and Words
by Ahnyo
Summary: Polnareff and Avdol share a hotel room. It's early in the morning—much too early to get up and start the day—and they're both wide awake. Since neither of them can go back to sleep, they pass the time by having a talk. It starts out as idle conversation, but it quickly takes a different direction. Suddenly, they're in each other's arms. It was inevitable.


Another night, another hotel.

Polnareff had lost track of how many hotels he had stayed in over the course of his travels. Even though each hotel had varied in its quality and tendency to attract enemy Stands, they had all blended in Polnareff's mind and become indistinguishable from one another. His collective perception of hotels was that they were filthy, dangerous places with bathrooms that were even filthier and five times as dangerous. Hotels shouldhave been a refuge from the trials of his journey, but that was rarely the case. Having a roof over his head protected Polnareff from the elements, but enemy Stands weren't like the weather: no amount of shelter could keep them from getting in. He was never truly safe.

The hotel in Luxor was different. Polnareff wasn't sure if it was a five star hotel, but to him, it was just as good. All in all, it provided a perfectly mundane experience. It was up to Polnareff's standards of cleanliness, and the beds were comfortable enough to afford him a good night's sleep—a sleep that hadn't been interrupted by any enemy Stands. The promise of a complementary breakfast was what had roused him awake at such an early hour.

Polnareff squinted at the clock, trying to make out the position of the hands in the faint light of dawn. It was around 5:15 a.m. Breakfast wouldn't be served until 6:30. There was more than an hour to go. Polnareff rammed the back of his head into his pillow and groaned. He had already committed to being awake, so he had no choice but to wait it out.

He stared at the ceiling, wearily searching for the shapes of animals in the stucco. He lost interest as soon as he remembered that there was an actual animal in his room—it took a couple seconds, at most. Iggy was hard to ignore. In an effort to keep his distance from Polnareff, he had wedged himself into one of the corners of the room. He was fast asleep, and his labored snoring was thunderous. A dog his size shouldn't have been able to make so much noise, but Iggy didn't care. It seemed that nothing could stand in the way of his mission to piss Polnareff off in as many ways possible.

Polnareff resented the fact that Iggy was in his room. It didn't make sense. Jotaro was by himself. Joseph was by himself. Meanwhile, Polnareff had to share his room with both Avdol _and_ the dog. Logically, Iggy should have stayed with one of the others—but Avdol was at the behest of no such logic. He had insisted upon keeping Iggy in their room because he thought it would help Polnareff bond with him. On the contrary, he was only growing more and more fed up with the dog. He glared at Avdol, who lay in the bed next to his, all the while wondering how he was able to sleep through the noise.

It turned out that Avdol wasn't sleeping. The whites of his eyes stood out against the darkness of his face. His pupils were absently wandering the ceiling, much like Polnareff's had been moments before. Avdol didn't look nearly as well rested—perhaps he was wondering how Polnareff had managed to get anysleep at all. The thought of Avdol regretting his decision gratified Polnareff in a vindictive way.

Avdol was easily Polnareff's closest friend. While their relationship had been rocky at first, they became very close following a chain of events that had unfolded over the past week or so. Still, there was something about Avdol that frustrated Polnareff, but he didn't know what it was. This frustration manifested in a variety of ways. For example, Polnareff hadn't fought Avdol's decision to keep Iggy in their room. He hadn't been able to bring himself to argue with him, so he'd kept silent. It wasn't that Avdol had convinced him to change his mind—Polnareff still thought the idea was dumb, and it was. But since he hadn't said anything, he had to deal with the consequences.

What was it, then? Was it because Polnareff didn't want risk upsetting Avdol by turning him down? They had grown so close in such a short period of time that Polnareff didn't know the limits of their friendship, and he was scared to test their boundaries. He was normally an outspoken person, but he had a way of dancing around certain topics when he talked to Avdol—and yet he still found himself blurting out things to which Avdol would certainly take offense if it weren't for his temperate personality. In fact, it seemed like Polnareff went out of his way to offend him at times.

It didn't add up—that was what Polnareff kept telling himself. He told himself a lot of things like that, and jumped through all sorts of mental hoops to maintain the illusion that he didn't know why he was frustrated. There was never any doubt. Polnareff had known what that frustration was from the very moment those feelings had surfaced in his heart. Polnareff wasn't actually frustrated with Avdol—he was just a scapegoat. Polnareff was frustrated with himself. He was frustrated that he had those feelings, and that he couldn't let them out because he knew Avdol didn't feel the same. Because of that, Polnareff often felt like it was Avdol's fault that he was frustrated, and he took it out on him.

Most of the time, he still enjoyed his company, though.

Avdol noticed that Polnareff was staring at him. "You're awake," he said. It was unlike him to point out something so obvious. He must have been _really_ tired.

"Yup. I sure am."

Avdol rolled onto his side. He grumbled, "If I'm awake, and you're awake, then I suppose it's only fair that Iggy wakes up too."

"Can't argue with that." Polnareff snickered and summoned Silver Chariot. The armored Stand materialized above him, pointing its rapier toward the slumbering Iggy. Polnareff thrust it like a javelin. It shot through the air, piercing the floor inches from Iggy's nose. "Time to get up, Lazybones!" he called, keeping his voice hushed.

Avdol and Polnareff shared a laugh as Iggy yelped and jolted to his feet. He frantically searched for the source of the disturbance, but Polnareff had already withdrawn Silver Chariot. Once he had gotten over his shock, Iggy turned to face the laughing men. The dog failed to see the humor in his rude awakening. He growled, sand pooling under his paws.

Avdol and Polnareff weren't laughing anymore.

"O-oh!" Polnareff cried, unable to keep his voice down. "There's no need for that, r-really!"

Iggy considered for a moment. Much to Avdol and Polnareff's relief, the sand faded away.

Polnareff clapped his hands and chimed, "Good dog! Good b—" Iggy launched himself at him, a flurry of teeth and slobber. Avdol chuckled again as Polnareff fought to tear the dog away.

"Gah!" Polnareff held Iggy, who was still kicking and biting, by the scruff of his neck. He spat out a wad of dog hair. "Avdol! You bastard. You knew this would happen, didn't you?"

Avdol shrugged, sitting up. "I didn't say you had to use Silver Chariot to wake him. That was your own choice."

Polnareff muttered something unintelligible as he waited for Iggy to calm down. When he stopped fighting, Polnareff carefully placed him on the floor. He braced himself for another attack, but the dog merely flashed him a dirty look and trotted back to his corner. He curled up in a ball and closed his eyes, as if nothing had happened.

"It seems you two are starting to get along swimmingly!" Avdol remarked. "That's the fastest I've seen you settle a disagreement. It looks like Iggy didn't draw blood this time, too. You're getting there. At this rate, the two of you will be best of friends in no time."

Polnareff rolled his eyes. "Shut up."

"You'll have to make me."

He rolled his eyes again. "Man. Anybody who doesn't know you that well would think you're so calm and wise, but it's just an act. You're a big kid inside. You're always cracking jokes, and putting on costumes, and daring people to do weird stuff, and all sorts of crap like that."

Avdol flashed a mischievous grin, fixating on one part of his accusation in particular. "I still can't believe you fell for my disguise back on the island. Seeing you accept it without question… it was hard to keep myself from laughing. I almost blew my cover then and there."

"But… I…" Polnareff's face was hot with embarrassment. He whined, "I had no reason to think it was you! They told me you were dead, remember?" He froze, his expression pensive. "How did you pull that disguise off, anyway?"

"I rubbed some ash into my hair," Avdol said, thoroughly amused, "and wore green robes instead of red."

"And?"

"That's all."

"Really? No makeup, no movie magic? I'll be damned if I didn't see a wrinkle or two."

Avdol ran his fingers across his face. "I wouldn't be surprised if I gained some wrinkles or my hair actually did turn gray, what with all the stress I'd been dealing with."

Polnareff gave him a light punch. "Stress? What could _you_ possibly have been stressed about? You got to hang out on an island for a couple of weeks! Do you have any idea what the rest of us were up to while you were off on your little vacation? We fought _so_ many Stands without you!" We..." He flailed his arms, perhaps in an effort to give momentum to his stalling train of thought. "We, uh… we fought the sun!"

"The Sun?" Avdol inquired. "What kind of Stand was the one that invoked The Sun?"

"No, no! None of that tarot crap! Only you would assume… well, I mean… it was _probably_ the one representing The Sun card. I don't think it was the Ace of Hearts or whatever the hell. But I'm talking about an actual, literal sun. A big flaming ball of gas! We had to dig a hole in the ground, and there was this mirror, and… and then Jotaro threw a rock and we won. But we almost died! It was pretty funny, though. A mirror! Ha…" His voice trailed off as he realized he had forgotten what point he was trying to make.

Avdol blinked as he tried to piece together Polnareff's hasty retelling. "That, uh. That certainly sounds like it was stressful." He carried on. "It wasn't all rest and relaxation for me on the island. Rest, yes. I needed to recover from my injuries. I can assure you that I was unable to relax, though."

"Why's that?" Polnareff asked unthinkingly.

"Would you be able to relax if you were critically wounded?" He didn't wait for a response. "There were many things on my mind as well. I spent a lot of time thinking about you."

" _Me?_ "

"Yes. All of you. Jotaro, Joseph, Kakyoin, you."

Polnareff's eyelid twitched.

"I was worried. My knowledge of your whereabouts was limited. If one of you were killed, I wouldn't have found out until much later."

Polnareff snorted. "Yeah, being able to know if someone is alive or not _sure is nice!_ "

"Again, I apologize. Like Kakyoin said, the others and I all reached an agreement that it would be for the best if you didn't know. Your behavior right now leads me to believe it was the right decision."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?" Polnareff balled his hand into a fist and prepared to give him another punch. Before he could strike, Avdol snagged his arm.

"You are rash. Impulsive. You have a very spur of the moment attitude about a lot of things. One might assume this would make you very unpredictable, but it most cases, the opposite is true. That is why I was able to stop your punch without looking." He let go of Polnareff. "We knew you would have made a big fuss if we told you I was alive. You wouldn't have been able to keep your mouth shut... and then the enemy would have found out where I was, and then I would have died _for real_."

"That's not true!" Polnareff cried. "I'm perfectly capable of keeping my mouth shut!"

Someone pounded on the wall from the next room over. "Hey, Polnareff. Mind keeping it down? It's too early for your crap." It was Jotaro, his voice even hoarser than usual.

Avdol beamed as Polnareff glanced rapidly around the room. "No way! The timing on that was too perfect. You've gotta be messing with me! Is somebody spying on me with their Stand?" He muttered under his breath, "Though I wouldn't put it past Jotaro to just conveniently show up at a time like that."

"Forgive him, Jotaro. Go back to sleep," Avdol called. He faced Polnareff, still smiling. "I don't know what that was about. But I do know that you are very, _very_ loud, and you are not good at subtlety, or keeping things secret. If you try to deny any of those things, you will likely prove yourself wrong again."

Polnareff was quick to react. "Who says I can't keep a secret? I've got plenty of 'em. You think you know me, Avdol? You think you can predict how I'll act? Well, you don't know shit about me! You wouldn't believe how many secrets I have."

"And what might those be?"

Polnareff laughed. "C'mon! Do you really think I'm going to fall for that? What do you take me for, Avdol? A fool? That card's already taken." He dismissively waved his hand at Iggy. The dog's eyes snapped open every time Polnareff raised his voice, and he was growing more agitated by the minute. He was too exhausted to do anything about it, though.

"On second thought, I don't think you need to tell me any of your secrets outright. I believe I have caught onto one of them through observation alone. You've been thinking about it a lot lately. Is that correct?"

"What?" hollered Polnareff, turning bright red. "What are you talking about?"

Avdol nodded. "Yes. I am certainly onto something." He pointed at Polnareff's face. "You're blushing."

"I don't know what you mean! Seriously!" Polnareff hid behind his hands, and yet he still tried to defend himself. "If it looks like I'm blushing, well… that doesn't mean a thing! Look at me, Avdol. Look at how white I am. When you're this pasty, anything can turn you red. Hell, maybe it's sunburn, or…"

"Tsk, tsk. Enough with the excuses." Avdol wagged his finger chidingly. "Do you remember what I said? It is useless to deny what I know to be true. You are very outward with your emotions, Polnareff. Even if you keep your lips sealed, I can count on your actions and body language to convey what's truly on your mind. Actions speak louder than words, after all." Avdol's lips curled into a tiny smile. "I haven't even told you what I think your secret is. How is it that you are already so flustered?"

" _Ghk_ ," Polnareff choked, dropping his gaze to the ground. His forehead was drenched with sweat, and he wouldn't be surprised if all the heat smoldering on his face was making it boil. Even though he couldn't bear to look Avdol in the eye, he could feel the man's cool confidence filling the air around him. The kind of confidence Avdol possessed was not smug or hostile, and he didn't gain any satisfaction through proving Polnareff wrong. Avdol treated his intuition as fact—but rather than insisting he was right and having that be the end of it, he made sure to be transparent about the logic behind each of his conclusions. His goal was to make Polnareff understand—and even though Polnareff wouldn't admit it, he had succeeded in doing so.

Polnareff wanted a reason to hate Avdol and his intuition, if only because he considered him a threat to his ego. He wanted to find a way to defy what Avdol foretold about him, and to be able to get in his face and brag about proving him wrong. That would show him that Avdol was full of shit, which would justify his hatred. Avdol _wasn't_ full of shit, though, so Polnareff _couldn't_ hate him. He was remarkably wise and perceptive, to the extent that his cognitive abilities could easily be mistaken for mysticism. It was no wonder he had chosen to make a living as a fortuneteller. Even those who didn't believe in divination would find themselves enchanted by Avdol's skill in making connections between his clients and the cards they drew.

Beyond that, there was something Polnareff admired about him: he was everything Polnareff was not. Everything about Avdol was subtle, which contrasted with Polnareff's bombastic personality. The two of them balanced each other. When Polnareff was around, Avdol felt free to let loose and have fun. At the same time, Avdol helped Polnareff slow down and think. Sometimes—oftentimes—Avdol made Polnareff feel inadequate. He wasn't jealous, though. Polnareff needed those contrasting qualities in his life, but they didn't have to be his own. Avdol completed him.

That was why Polnareff was drawn to him. That was why he wanted him; _needed_ him. He didn't know how to tell him that, though. Unlike Avdol, Polnareff didn't really have a way with words. He spoke without thinking, and the tension was turning him into even more of a blithering idiot. The moment was right, but he couldn't find his voice. He didn't _want_ to find his voice. If he spoke up, he'd say the wrong stuff and ruin everything—but if he didn't speak up, the moment would pass, and he'd suffer for his silence once again.

Avdol's voice echoed in Polnareff's head: _Actions speak louder than words,_ _after all_. It was an old cliché, rather than an original nugget of Avdol's wisdom—and yet it seemed expertly tailored to the occasion. Polnareff didn't need to speak. He needed to act. Still, he couldn't bring himself to face his friend. His emotions were escalating, escaping through his pores and making him quake. He didn't even know what was holding him back anymore; it wasn't like him to keep his feelings restrained. Was he still opposed to proving Avdol right? There was no point in keeping up the charade when he and Avdol both already knew the truth.

Polnareff sputtered and sucked in his lower lip, suppressing tears. One of his arms shot out; then, the other. Even though his eyes were still fixed on the floor, Polnareff's arms naturally found their way around Avdol's form. Seconds inched along agonizingly as he waited for Avdol to reciprocate. Polnareff counted to himself, inebriated from anxiety: _One…_ _t-_ _two…_ _th_ _r_ _-tr-_ _trois… quatre… cinq…_ Avdol didn't move, and neither did Polnareff. He was at a loss for how to recover. How could he have misjudged the situation when everything seemed to have fallen into place?

Then, Polnareff remembered what Avdol had said about him: he was rash by nature. Rather than properly reading the situation, he had acted on impulse. He had been proactive in pursuing the outcome he wanted to see, even though it was circumstantially inappropriate. Polnareff was oblivious; he had no business jumping to conclusions like that. That was Avdol's job.

At last, Avdol stirred. "P-Polnareff..."

Polnareff had never heard Avdol's voice falter like that before, and it worried him.

"… When I said I knew your secret, this was… not what I had in mind. I thought your secret was... _that you used to wet the bed when you were a kid._ "

The noise that came out of Polnareff's throat startled Iggy, causing him to spring to his feet and fart in terror. Polnareff jerked backwards with enough force to send him flying into his bed, where he collapsed into a despondent pile. If it weren't for the sound of Avdol's boisterous laughter, he would have passed out from humiliation.

"Ha!" Avdol wheezed. "I got you good! I don't think I've even seen _Silver Chariot_ move that fast."

Slowly, Polnareff sat up. "Got… me?" he uttered, drawing out the words as if he were speaking for the first time. "What do you..." The gears turned in his head and he gasped. " _Joke?_ "

"Yes. I was joking," Avdol said. He began to approach Polnareff. "I got you. But now..." He wrapped his arms around him and guided him onto his feet. "… I've got you."

Polnareff didn't know whether to laugh or cry, so he did both. "You son of a bitch. Damn you..." His buried his face in Avdol's robes, tears seeping into the fabric. Then, Polnareff lifted his head, his puffy eyes finally meeting Avdol's gaze. "Just… don't fool me like that anymore… please?" he begged in a whisper.

Avdol dipped his head. "That was an insensitive thing for me to have done, considering what I put you through before. I am sorry, Polnareff. It will not happen again."

Polnareff was shaken both by the sincerity of his tone and by how easy it had been to get an apology out of him. He had accused Avdol of being childish, and yet the degree of maturity he showed was foreign to Polnareff. "I really ought to punch you again."

"Go ahead, if you like. I deserve it."

But Polnareff didn't punch him. He couldn't run the risk of spoiling this moment—a moment he never believed would actually come. He exhaled deeply and put his arms over Avdol's, merging their silhouettes. "This is… this is real?"

"You heard me. I said I was done making jokes."

Avdol's embrace was warm. It was distinct from the hot desert air that lingered in the hotel room, just as the warmth of sitting around a campfire with friends was distinct from the heat of the flames themselves. The warmth was imbued with the essence of their journey—or at least the subtler moments; the brief lapses of time when they knew they were safe from enemy Stands. Such security was growing increasingly scarce as they drew nearer to their destination, and Polnareff knew he wouldn't feel this safe again until their journey had reached its end.

Polnareff held him tighter, sinking deep into his robes. Even beneath the heavy cloth, Polnareff could feel Avdol's pulse. The steady beat of life through his body caused the realization to sink in all over again. He was alive! He was alive, and he was right there with him, cradled in his arms. Polnareff didn't want to let go; he wanted to stay close to his friend's heart and never lose track of its rhythm. That way, he'd always be able to know that Avdol was alive.

Avdol massaged Polnareff's back, sweeping his palm over the contours of his muscles. Polnareff moved his hand to the back of Avdol's head and weaved his fingers between his columns of hair. Their eyes met again and they regarded each other, familiarizing themselves with the other's features in a new, intimate way. Polnareff was drawn closer by the amiable warmth of Avdol's amber gaze. His eyelids fluttered shut and he curved his lips, and he could feel Avdol's heart surge as he planted them on his cheek.

"You've never been this quiet before," Avdol whispered, "which is good. Now would not be a good time to anger Jotaro. Could you imagine if he made Star Platinum bust in at a time like this?"

Once the words had sunk in, Polnareff gritted his teeth. With his mouth still pressed against Avdol's face, he muttered, "Don't even… God, would you j-just… _shut the fuck up?_ "

"You'll have to make me."

Polnareff tried his best not to smile, but he couldn't hide it. He tipped Avdol's head, joining his lips with his own. Both sets had been chapped by the desert sun, and their worn surfaces came together like a jigsaw. They held, sharing breaths.

Gradually, Polnareff became aware of another sensation. It was not at all like Avdol's gentle touch or the warmth of his body heat—it was coarse and itchy, and it seemed to spread across his entire body. It scattered upon his skin and into the folds of his clothes, and even worked its way down his throat and into his lungs. Suddenly, Polnareff was gasping for breath. He tried to speak, but instead erupted into a fit of coughing. Polnareff looked to Avdol for help. He was choking as well. Their immersion was shattered, and just like that, the moment that felt like it would go on forever had come to an end. Polnareff and Avdol were sent hurtling back to reality. They let go of each other, ready to fight for their lives.

Polnareff drew a breath, even though he knew it was futile. The air flowed in. It stayed in his chest for a second, and then it flowed out. Cautiously, he took another breath. He inhaled. He exhaled. Nothing stifled the flow. Then, he noticed that the grittiness had subsided as well. It was over so fast that if Avdol hadn't been struck by the same thing, Polnareff would've thought he had hallucinated it. The two of them exchanged bewildered looks.

"You felt that, right?" Polnareff asked.

"I did."

"So, it really happened? I didn't just imagine it?"

"Yes."

"Okay, then. Good to know we're on the same page." Polnareff inhaled sharply, his composure crumbling. " _What the_ _ever-loving_ _fuck was that?_ "

"Normally, I'd suspect that we were under attack by an enemy Stand. However… you might not agree with me on this, but in this case, I'd hesitate to say it was the work of an _enemy_ Stand."

"What's that supposed t—" At once, he remembered Iggy. The dog was still sitting in the corner, looking particularly smug. The Fool had all but vanished, leaving only a trace of colored sand behind. "You… you've gotta be kidding me!"

"Well," Avdol said nonchalantly, "that makes us even, I suppose."

" _Iggy!_ " Polnareff wailed. "Gah! How did I forget he was here? I'm gonna strangle him, I swear. That damn mutt… he was watching us this whole time! Thank God his stupid animal brain wouldn't be able to comprehend any of what he just saw."

Iggy laid his ears back and snarled.

"I wouldn't say that," advised Avdol. "Are you trying to suggest he didn't know what he was doing? Iggy knew _exactly_ what he was doing. He has the capacity to utilize a Stand. I can't imagine that basic displays of affection are beyond his realm of understanding."

"Shit, you're probably right," Polnareff cursed. "In that case, I'm glad he can't talk, at least."

"Among us, Iggy is truly the best at keeping secrets. Not that he has a choice." Avdol bent down and reached out to pat Iggy on the head, but the little dog stubbornly avoided him. He shrugged and brought his gaze back to Polnareff. "And you, Polnareff… you are, by far, the _worst_."

Polnareff stifled a laugh. "Yeah… yeah, you're right. You win, Avdol."

"That is not a bad thing, though. Not all of the time," Avdol said. "When your secrets take the form of desires, there is nothing holding you back from pursuing them. Your drive is astonishingly strong. The way you assert yourself allows you to turn your dreams into realities." He paused. "Me… I could never be so upfront with my feelings. If it had been up to me to make the first move, well… I wouldn't have. My feelings would have remained bottled up.

"When I call upon the cards to reveal one's fate, I am merely reading what has been foretold. It is beyond my ability to alter their fates. The same is true of my own destiny. I walk through life without my own sense of direction, guided only by happenstance. I am a man without resolve." Avdol took a deep breath, and then resumed. "The cards are not infallible. Some happenings evade the lens of prognostication. Polnareff, I said you were predictable. That is not entirely true. Ever since we met, you have managed to surprise me on a regular basis. When my Magician's Red collided with your Silver Chariot and I got my first sense of who you are… I never would have guessed that our fates would intertwine in this manner."

If there was one thing Polnareff had trouble expressing, it was his own flaws. Avdol's confession had been spellbinding, and somehow, Polnareff was swayed into following up with a confession of his own. He contemplated for a long moment, which was something he didn't do very often. There was a reason he didn't let himself get lost in thought, and it wasn't because he lacked the capacity.

He thought about all the things that had happened, and how seamlessly everything had fallen into place. He traced the events back to his original inhibitions, recalling that he didn't think his feelings were mutual. It made him realize that nothing made any sense. The feelings shouldn't have been mutual. Everything should have gone wrong. What the hell was Avdol thinking? Polnareff tried to consider Avdol's perspective, but the man's reasoning eluded him. He was forced to confront him.

"I don't get it," he said. "What would someone like you want with a guy like me? I'm just a burden on everyone. Can't even get myself to save a single person." His delivery was labored with both reluctance and guilt. Admitting his mistakes aloud wasn't liberating or cathartic. It only made them feel more real to Polnareff. He kept those memories hidden in the back of his mind, and there was usually too much going on for him to be able to think about them for long. Now, they had been dragged out into the center of his brain, and he was left to face all the things he had ever done wrong.

Something wasn't right. The mood had dropped instantly, and Avdol was left clinging to the tattered remains of the moment. Had Polnareff been upset by something he'd said? The taste of his words still lingered on his tongue and he chewed on it, trying to figure out where he had gone wrong. He got nowhere and focused on consoling Polnareff instead.

"Fate is unkind to you. Do not put the blame on yourself," he said. "It would be unfair for me to judge your character based on the circumstance of luck. Rather, your worth lies in your potential. I can see that you want to save people. You want that more than anything. If you had a way to overcome fate, you would see to it that none of the people you care about are wronged in any way. Since you do not, you seek justice. It was your desire for vengeance that compelled you to embark on this journey. Some may question the morality of revenge, but to me, it is a noble cause. Even when fortune does not fall in your favor and you are unable to save your loved ones' lives, you concern yourself with saving their dignity."

"Sherry…" Polnareff mumbled. "I didn't save her dignity." His entire demeanor had transformed. The color had drained from his face and his features had hardened. Only his eyes, which were moist and unfocused, remained soft. He had put up a wall, but that wasn't his nature. It wouldn't take much for his facade to be knocked down.

Avdol hesitated. He knew Polnareff's sister was a sensitive topic, so he would have to tread carefully. "I would say you did. I was told you dealt the final blow to her murderer. Now, she rests in peace."

"But… on the island…"

"That was not your sister. You know that. Sherry is in heaven and has no connection to the effigy that rose from hell. She was watching over you—I'm sure of it—and she understands. You did not seek to tarnish her image. In fact, I am certain she saw it for what it was: a testament to how much you loved her. When you fell for that Stand's trickery, you put aside your own wants and tried to wish her back to life. You have told me little of your relationship with Sherry, but that alone speaks volumes about how good of a brother you were to her."

"Av… dol…" Polnareff's tears were flowing again. In spite of this, he remained stoic. His expression was unreadable.

He couldn't tell if he had comforted Polnareff, or if he had made things worse. _Why_ couldn't he tell? He needed to steer away from that topic. Avdol backpedaled, simultaneously pushing the narrative forward. "And then, you wished for my return. I did not doubt that you would try to bring back your sister. However, this was something I did not see coming. Up until then, I didn't think you had any respect for me. During our final confrontation, you showed me nothing but contempt. This revelation opened my eyes."

Polnareff shook his head. "I thought it was my fault that you died, and I was trying to make up for it. It was that vengeance thing. That's all."

"Are you _sure_ that was all?" His tone was quizzical, and Avdol regretted it instantly. It wasn't like him to blurt things out like that, but he was on edge and he couldn't think straight. Humor wouldn't lighten the mood; most of the time, Polnareff didn't like his jokes.

Polnareff sat down and put his head in his hands. "You know what? I don't even know. I don't know what I'm doing right now, or what I just did. All of this… it's a lot to take in."

Avdol couldn't keep up. "I understand," he said, even though he didn't.

"No, I don't think you do. Or maybe it's that you understand too much. I can't make sense of this stuff. Maybe you can, but me? I don't know what the hell's going on."

Avdol winced. Had he come off as patronizing? He relayed another empty sentence. "I will admit that this was all very sudden."

Polnareff sighed. "No… no, it's true. What am I saying? Words keep coming out, but they're not the ones I want. Maybe I should just stop talking before I really screw up. But there's one more thing I have to say." He lifted his head. "It's true. Avdol… I… I love you."

Avdol studied him, making sure he truly meant what he had said. He did. Every part of his countenance was instilled with sincerity. It was not a superficial type of sincerity, like a mask; Polnareff was capable of no such thing. Rather, this sincerity blossomed from inside of him and spread across his visage, weaving its way into each of his features—the gleam of trust in his eyes, his flushed cheeks, the beads of perspiration on his forehead, and the shape of his lips after those words had fallen out. Even after all the careless things Avdol had said, Polnareff's feelings hadn't changed.

Avdol didn't recite the words back to Polnareff. He moved. He hugged him. It was a quick, simple gesture, and yet it conveyed more than anything he could have said aloud. That gesture hadn't failed him before, and it didn't fail him again. The same couldn't be said of Avdol's voice. He had a thorough manner of speaking, but sometimes he spoke for too long and his points were obscured by his myriads of words. Other times, Polnareff was too dense and Avdol's sense of humor was lost on him. In this occasion, there was no better way for him to reciprocate the thought and ensure that his intentions were clear. The words were silent, but Polnareff heard them: _I love you, too._ _Everything will be all right._

The two of them had been caught up in a kind of dance—a back and forth sashay between movements and talk. Neither of them had ever danced before, though. The rhythm of emotion guided them along, but they moved to the music in different ways. They tried to match each other's steps, but their footwork was sloppy. The dance went on nevertheless. As the curtains began to draw, they moved in synch. They owned it.

They were dancing the same dance, and speaking the same language—a language of compromise; of actions and words. Everything was clear.

Avdol caressed Polnareff's cheeks, wiping away his tears. Polnareff sighed, a smile slowly returning to his face. He felt safe again. His thoughts settled and retreated to the recesses of his mind. Avdol's warmth was numbing, and Polnareff could think of nothing but how close he was to him.

This time, Iggy couldn't bring himself to intervene—or, more likely, he just couldn't be bothered to get up again. Having grown bored with the two, he went back to sleep. Neither Avdol not Polnareff seemed to mind when he started snoring; they were caught up in something much more important.

After they let go, they sat for a while. Nothing else needed to be said, at least for now. They were happy just to be in each other's company. With Iggy snoring, the room was far from silent—but it was probably as quiet as it would ever get, so they savored it.

At last, Avdol spoke. "Polnareff, are you hungry?"

"Eh?"

"Look at the time," said Avdol. "They'll start serving breakfast soon."

Polnareff checked the clock and almost gasped out loud. It was almost 6:30. How had more than an hour gone by already? He shrugged to himself, accepting it. As much as Polnareff would have liked to idle in the moment, he couldn't ignore his hunger. "Hell yeah, I'm starving. I wonder what they cooked up. Whatever it is, I bet it can't hold a candle to the food from my homeland. When it comes to cooking, no one beats the French!"

There was a twinkle in Avdol's eye. "You've never tried a full Egyptian breakfast. Flat bread with bean dip, eggs, fresh fruit and vegetables, tea, pastries sweetened with rosewater…"

"That's nothing." Polnareff waved him off. "Hey, listen. When all of this is over, you've gotta come with me to France. The food will blow your mind."

Avdol nodded. "Yes. I'd like that."

" _Très bien!_ "

This was only the beginning, Polnareff realized. Thinking about what the future held filled him with renewed energy. Now, he had something else to fight for, and he was ready to keep fighting and keep bringing that future closer.

Of course, he couldn't do any of that on an empty stomach.

"Whatever, though. At this point, I'd eat pretty much anything. C'mon, let's get ready." Polnareff paused when he passed by Iggy. He turned to Avdol. "Should we wake him up? I bet he's hungry, too."

"I think we've learned our lesson," Avdol said. "Let sleeping dogs lie."

They both laughed.

As they walked down the hall, Polnareff couldn't contain his excitement. "There's this place a few blocks from where I live… they make the best sole meunière in the world. The fish is so fresh, and it just falls apart in your mouth. You always order seafood, so I know you'd love it.

"France has a really rich history, too. The pyramids are cool and all, but they're a little too dusty and old for my liking. Everybody's gotta see the Eiffel Tower before they die. It's a marvel of architecture! Oh, and I've got to get you to the Louvre, too. We've got a pyramid of our own there, but it's made of glass instead of sand. Did you know that, Avdol?"

As Polnareff prattled on, Avdol couldn't help but smile. It was hard for him to follow the way he jumped from one thought to the next, but Polnareff's zeal made for easy listening nonetheless. Most of all, Avdol was just happy to see him rebound from his despair.

Polnareff stopped to catch his breath. He could tell Avdol was only sort of paying attention to him. That was fair, he thought—he didn't always listen to Avdol, either. He smiled back at him, even though he was pretty sure he wasn't looking.

Eventually, Polnareff realized that he had found refuge at last. He had found it inside of a hotel, but it had nothing to do with the hotel itself. It turned out that he'd been looking in all the wrong places. He knew exactly where to look now. Refuge didn't have to be bound to a shelter. Sometimes, it took the form of a person—and Polnareff was lucky enough to have that person standing next to him.

As long as Avdol was by his side, he would always feel safe.


End file.
